Sentimental
by Karin Ochibi-chan
Summary: AU They were kindred spirits. Gaara. Naruto. Sakura. Semi Gaara-centric. Dedicated to my friend Tsuki-chan


**Karin: Hey guys, here's a little something for Gaara, Naruto, and Sakura. This is dedicated to my special friend Tsuki Miyamoto—sorry it's really late Tsuki-chan. Your other fanfic won't be finished for a bit so I decided to write you this for the time being. Hope that's okay. **

**Everyone else—I hope you like enjoy this as well. It's semi Gaara-centric**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto.

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**Sentimental**

**A Naruto oneshot**

**By Karin Ochibi-chan**

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_Creak. Creak. _The sounds of the old swing shifted lightly back and forth in a dull, leisure fashion—as if the occupant did not care to actually swing, but just sit there left with his thoughts. Scarlet red hair atop his head barely covering empty jade eyes and the tattoo of the kanji for love on his forehead. The swing was placed in a nice spot—under a tree in the cool, dark shade.

Dark. It suited him so well. He was dark. He was depressing. He was desolate.

He was lonely. Yes, very lonely.

No one took notice of him—he had an unnoticeable aura about himself. Someone who you look at, but not really see. Someone you pass by without a second thought to their existence.

Indeed his existence wasn't something to consider in the minds of the other children or their parents.

He had no friends you see. Too reserved and unsure on how to go about making them. He sat in the back of the classroom simply minding himself. There, but not exactly there. He was a ghost you could say—a phantom that not even people with sixth senses will discover.

It was ironic in a way. His siblings were excellent in social abilities. But not he; no, certainly not he.

Laughter interrupted his thoughts. Jade eyes turned to see what the commotion was about only to see children—his fellow classmates and maybe some upperclassmen by a year—push around a little girl with a ribbon in her hair. She didn't really put up much of a fight since she was so small and they were stronger than her. No one came to help her. She was unimportant—children don't associate themselves with things that they don't consider interesting. Only negative attention was given to the child of his age.

She was unimportant after all. Who would care if they tortured her?

The child was shoved into the dirty ground and they left her there laughing at the cruel joke. He watched while she stared at the ground for a few seconds as she sat on the dirt ruining her clothes. She didn't move and she didn't say anything. Soon, she got up and walked away with her head bowed as if nothing had happened.

But it had, and he had watched without lifting a finger to help.

Maybe it was because it was so satisfactory to him to see someone else hurt—someone else in pain like he was. He didn't mean to enjoy the girl's suffering, but he just couldn't help it. Because when he saw that little display, he saw something.

_She's like me. She's a ghost. _

A cool substance then landed on his nose making him look up into the sky. More droplets soon came afterwards. The teacher had come outside to call everyone in. The students obeyed for they didn't want to get soaked.

It was a moment before he slowly detached himself from the swing and proceeded to head inside. After all, he had nothing to look forward to in order to hurry like they did.

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He sat in the classroom doodling since it was near the end of the day and they could relax. Sitting in the lone table in the back, nobody paid him mind as they were too absorbed in their own affairs to notice the lone five-year-old.

His attention was captured when he heard the whines of another boy. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a spiky haired boy trying to see what his fellow classmates were working on. He asked them questions and inquires on their activities and if he could join.

They rejected him unsurprisingly. He was loud, they told him. Loud and annoying. No one wanted him. Nobody cared for his opinions or company. Go away, they said. They did not want him there.

They called him names. They said he was dumb and stupid. That he was an idiot to put salt in the wound. He was dejected and his shoulders slumped. He was a nuisance.

_A phantom. He's a phantom to everyone he comes in contact with. _

In the pit of his stomach, something stirred in pleasure that he was not the only one. That he wasn't the only one miserable. It was sick. It was wrong, he knew. Good people don't wish misery on others. Good people don't enjoy other's sadness.

And yet, what were his classmates? Were they good people? He'd seen teachers compliment his classmates and parents compliment their children, but are they really as amazing as they say? Are they really as good hearted and kind as the adult world thinks?

The answer is no. No, they do not see what ugly heads children reveal to each other. For that is the only way to voice them out—with other children who can't punish them. Who can't give them consequences and reveal their heartless actions towards their innocent selves.

Adults are cruel, but in reality, children are crueler.

Perhaps he is wrong. Maybe he's over exaggerating. But soon he denies the doubt those thoughts possessed. If they were good children, they wouldn't treat others badly. Therefore, they are not kind. They are not lovely. They are ugly. They are heartless.

Heartless under their innocent masks. Sheep under wolves' clothing.

_Scribble. Scribble. _He turned back to his drawing blocking out his thoughts. He's beginning to sound pessimistic and morbid. Even though it might be true, it's not healthy to dwell on those things at such a young age. He was smart; he knew not to let others see inside his head lest he wants people to be afraid of him or them to think something's wrong with him.

Because he knows the truth and they would refuse to believe. Ignorance is bliss after all.

_Screech. _His head turns up slightly when he hears the sound of a chair being pushed back and someone plopping down in it. Blonde spiky locks come to his vision signifying it was the boy from earlier who was rejected by his peers asking for invitation to join them. The phantom.

The boy did not look at him—like he was afraid to see rejection in his eyes like his peers—and just started doodling like he wasn't there. Loneliness surrounded him and misery consumed him.

He was unwanted. He was a nuisance.

And in turn, he ignored the blonde as well. They were not bothering each other, so why make a fuss? The boy was not like his classmates. He was not cruel. He was a victim. He was a victim just like the red haired child.

Misery loves company they always say.

Perhaps that is what compelled the next turn of events to happen. Perhaps that is what drove another to that silent and lonely table. Quiet steps approached and sat in the empty seat without making a single sound.

But they knew she was there. She was like them. Lonely. Miserable. Unwanted.

She was uninteresting. She was unimportant.

And they sympathized with her without even saying a word.

It was the girl from before. The one who was being teased by her classmates. She seemed so small. So tiny surrounded by the mass of other children. Happy children. And she, not happy at all.

The little girl soon started her own drawing. None of them spoke; they felt it unnecessary. None of them looked at each other; they felt it wasn't needed. They didn't have to do a single thing except sit at that table just sitting quietly.

Because they knew what the other was feeling. How hurt the three of them were. How rejected and unwanted they were viewed by others. They didn't need to share their troubles because in the presence of each other, they found a strange sort of comfort.

It was as if they were in their own world. A world consisting only of them. In the end, that was all that matter.

And when they each caught sight of each other and locked their gazes, there seemed to be one thing in their eyes.

_Be here tomorrow? _They inquired.

And simultaneously their innocent eyes flickered to their doodles before locking gazes again. This time no doubt and complete, utter sureness about their response.

_Of course._

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Iruka-sensei walked around the empty classroom as he picked up some of the stray papers and such left by his students. Walking along the tables, he found himself pivoting back towards the lone table in the back when something had caught his gaze.

On the surface of the table were three drawings. Each drawn by a different person, and yet were they same.

The drawings consisted of three children. A little girl and two boys. Pink, blonde, and red hair were a top their heads as they all sat under the tree were the lone swing resided in the courtyard.

However the thing that baffled Iruka-sensei the most was not the identical drawings by the three different children, it was what was written at the top of their doodles—a single solitary phrase that seemed so meaningless, but was actually the most meaningful thing in the world.

_Kindred Spirits. _

For alone they were ghosts, but when they were together, they were a mass of kindred spirits.

And it was this sentimental attachment they shared that made them realize that.

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**Karin: yeah, I know—it was pointless, but I still liked making it. I just wanted to write some kind of oneshot/drabble on Gaara, Naruto, and Sakura cause they're some of my most favorite characters. Hope you enjoyed it. **

**Please be kind enough to leave a review. Much appreciated. **

**This was for you Tsuki-chan. Hope you liked the Gaaraness of this fic. **

**See ya Next time! **


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